no more earth
by libetty
Summary: wouldn't you?
1. Prologue

they can't hear me

i'm too far underground, and the air is too dusty for noise

but i'm not sad

dusty musty

* * *

it's lukewarm down here

the wallpaper is beige and orange, with pretty stripedy things

i like pretty stripedy things

* * *

it's so grey

like the sepia pictures

so much dust

so much silence

like being the only one awake in a house full of sleeping people

they are sleep, curled up on the floorboards

in piles

in droves

a lot of bodies

metaphorically

really, i'm alone here

* * *

i can see a light out the window

it isn't synthetic

but it isn't natural

light from the old sun is filtering through the curtains

the coffee mugs in the cupboards are white and plastic and blue on the bottom

the sky is gone and far away and unreachable

* * *

what day is today?

* * *

i think it's sunday

it's a good day for a sunday

* * *

i haven't left this place, and the calendar sheets are all stale parchment now

* * *

what a pretty sunday it is

* * *

we'll go out and see the pictures this afternoon, ok?


	2. memory

i remember the sun

that golden sun with her dress of white lace

and a beautiful

beautiful

blue

* * *

blue

* * *

I remember it clearly now.

It was market day: Daddy was selling glass stuff, y'know, like necklaces and those... whaddya' call 'em? Wind- windmills? Windchimes? Yeah, windchimes. He made it all like this necklace I wore. It was all pretty and had a little tiny rose in it- purple. Anyway, he had a booth set out like you do during parades; all white and fluttery and I think it was made of canvas? Um, it was nice outside and warm, so I went off with my money- 'cause he said it was ok -and looked at what other people had while he sold his stuff.

* * *

the sun shimmered on the golden wheat

we drove and drove on the dusty roads, and i was content

grasshoppers clung to my pink shirt during those summer months that hung like a wet blanket over mens' laboring shoulders

sometimes i brushed them off, sometimes i let them lie

those days, i...


	3. phonecall

_ residence. _speaking.

* * *

Who's this?

* * *

_?

* * *

How've you been?! We've been waiting to hear from you!

* * *

No, no, don't be! How long's it been-? Seven, eight..?

* * *

Yes, I-

* * *

Oh, no, don't be!

* * *

Yes she's been-... No, we-...

* * *

What's that... Driving-? Oh! Right, uh-

* * *

Yes. Yes- Oh! You have?

* * *

That's great! See, I've been meaning to ask, did you get that...

* * *

Uh-huh-

* * *

Did you get that card I sent you?

* * *

Yeah, I know! Look, its dumb- corny -but she thought it was cute...

* * *

You did?

* * *

I'll be sure to let her know! Listen-

* * *

Uh-huh? No, I-

* * *

That too? Her birthday's coming up...

* * *

You-... You can make it?! Oh..!

* * *

She'll be happy! You'll see, _ picked out lemon this time.

* * *

I know, I know. But it'll work-

* * *

Oh, that? It'll be a surprise, like last time!

* * *

And-

* * *

Honey?

* * *

Honey..?

* * *

Whe-

* * *

Are you still on?

* * *

Guess it accidentally hung up...


	4. Chapter I

Once upon a time, there lived a pretty little girl who lived in a pretty little house with people much older than herself. She had golden hair, a cute, button nose and eyes that reflected her bright imagination.

Like all little girls, she loved to pick flowers and look at the clouds. Like all little girls, she was scared of the dark and of wasps. She was decent at school and considered herself an okay person, not that she really thought of herself much at that age. If you were to ask her, she would most likely say she's happy, then go on to talk eagerly about her day so far.

The little girl loved to walk to the playground or to her doting grandmother's, as both were nearby. Everything was nearby in a town that small, way out in the middle of nowhere. A town bordered by fields and sparse trees, thickets of thorns dotting the countryside like sandburrs on a perfect beach. A town that- in the blanket of night -swallowed what little streetlights it had to its name and bathed itself in an unrelenting darkness, of which no moonbeams or flashlights could cut.

The little girl lived peacefully all her life in this tiny town, never leaving and never changing, until one day,

Asphalt heaved.

A reckless outsider arrived, of which none dared but speak of in whispers and cast piercing glares when they thought it wouldn't notice, carrying with it a great, tumultuous rot that clung like laden ticks to the ears of wild kitty cats. Parasitic and horrid.

But she didn't understand. She didn't want to. Nobody told her.

She invited the wolf in sheep's clothing over to play one afternoon, and it breathed awful truths down her fair neck. Pulsing and cold and congealed, it forced itself upon her, staining the child's Sunday finest with her own baleful woes.

And thought it funny.

Never again did her eyes shimmer with delight, nor her palms outstretch in a loving embrace towards her peers. Never again did her ears ring with her own delightful laughter, nor her heart soar at the thought of a day on the town.

She knew now, for example, that a doggy screams like a person when its eyeball pops out.


	5. Chapter II

The little girl could never look upon the earth the same.

* * *

Loveless, her heart shriveled to dust and cast itself away in the bitter, cold wind that soon pervaded each crevice and nook of her hometown.

And in their beds, they, who never dared to come to her aid,

Never when she cried,

Never when she yelled,

Never when she uttered no sound at all,

* * *

They...

And then...

They...

* * *

a great rot spread like cancer

like rust

meek and terrified, she laid in bed with an awful fever

and there, the rot brewed


	6. elsewhere

_User: ****_

 _Password: ********_

* * *

 _Loading . . ._

 _Securing connection . . ._

* * *

 _Connection secured._

 _Welcome, ****._

* * *

 **/ping host_869**

* * *

 _Pinging 869 . . ._

 _Establishing connection . . ._

 _Connection established._

 _Transferring host . . ._

 _Host accepted._

* * *

Weary flesh brushes against familiar plastic, clicking and dancing under calloused fingertips. Eyes cry heavily for rest, though futile, and are disregardingly met by deaf ears.

The digital slate glares with unrelenting enticement, but one more twitch of the hand and it's over.

The results came back flawless.

That child, no, that _malady,_ was perfect.

* * *

It was time to hit the switch.


	7. dream

I barely remember that day.

I cried out of pain. Someone ran water on the blood to wash away dirt. I was carried to a white room. They asked me questions, like what my favorite cartoon was. I couldn't answer because I was in pain, but mostly because the gas put me to sleep. It tasted like strawberries and made my eyes water.

When I woke up again, my dad was showing me how to make balloons out of the latex gloves. He looked sad. I felt like I had been sitting still forever.

Then I fell back asleep, and woke up on the couch days later.

Sometimes though, I don't think I ever really left that hospital. Maybe I'm still asleep. Maybe that medicine made me dream all this time. Maybe I died. Maybe I never existed at all.

How could I be sure, though? Did it happen in the first place? Was I ever injured? Am I still dreaming?

Dreams feel so real when they're happening, like you're sure you were there at it really happened.

He looked so sad.


End file.
